Of Marriage, Mad Men & Melodies
by GennaMae
Summary: A collection of one-shots, character studies and in-between episode scenes for River and the Doctor. Number Seven: 'Her body was not a miracle by definition but it was too him. In the fire he saw memories of their time together. They were similar to the ones she'd kept sacred in her diary. Now he vowed to keep them sacred forever more.'
1. Chapter 1

**Of Marriage, Mad Men & Melodies**

_One – Only If For A Night_

**A/N:** The title is from the Florence and the Machine song of the same name because I always thought it suited this moment perfectly. It is also inspired by something Moffatt mentioned in the confidential of Lets Kill Hitler about for one tiny moment something very significant occurs during the kiss and not just The Doctor being saved. Last part is in past tense because present tense I found complicated the paragraph. **Disclaimer: **Neither the song or show is mine, they both belong to their respective owners.

**Summary:** An in-between scene for Lets Kill Hitler, set after Melody Pond sacrificed all the different lives she could have lived - for him, and before she awoke as River Song in hospital with a blue book, promising the worth of the one life she'd chosen - with him.

Only If For A Night

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_'My body was bruised and I was set alight, but you came over me like some holy rite, and although I was burning, you're the only light, only if for a night.'_

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_Berlin. The eve of war. _

He's drawn from the darkness that had captured him seconds before by her kiss; it is a touch of softness and power that she refuses to let go of, even when his eyes are open and wide in protest to what she is doing. River is young and messed up and he can't let her do this. It could kill her. It would kill her – before her time. But he has no choice. The choice has already been made and it's hers: to make the past hours undone almost as quickly as her mental conditioning had become undone earlier and to bring him back. He can good as hear her say, 'Oh, shut up. I'm saying your life, you fool," in protest to his objections. She brings him back to life.

The glowing light circles around and above them. It flows in radiant amber through both their bodies. With its gleam, it promises a bright awakening of life. But through the light and the sensations of her lips on his and the thrumming of his blood, warmed again by the energy given, he can feel her weakening. His strength is returning.

Their roles begin to reverse.

One of his arms reaches round and trails her back; the other is a gentle touch on her face. He does not try to break away or stop her now. Both the deed and damage are done. The brightness of her eyes is dimming with the streaming light of regeneration around them as it settles down from spiralling freely to slowing down. The light seems like it is returning to her body but the lines it travels are deceptive; it is lost entirely as it dissipates into the air.

He's ready for the moment when her lips start to leave his until they are feather-light and then, gone. She leans back, still knelt beside him on the stairs. What she's done starts to take its toll but the remnants of the smile she had is still trying to quirk the edges of her mouth. His eyes follow the pain in hers. Strength returned, he pushes himself up to half kneel, half sit on the stairs. He is just in time as well. Her fall is imminent. The contact of her body on the surface beneath softens when he brings his arms round her upper back. They lower her gently until it is she who is the one sprawled on the stairs.

The stairs press into her back as she looks up to him. Her breathing is deep. She'd not expected the instant fatigue and ache in every bone, it overtakes everything and his cry of her name – that of the women she is becoming – is so very distant. He can't help but wonder what feeling overpowers a body reduced to being so powerless? She would, if he asked, tell him it was exactly that of being powerless.

Her eyes want to give into the heaviness upon them and the man she murdered is watching over her. She thinks about teasing him about both of them being in the same scenario twice in one day, remembering when she had been slumped on the floor, dying and asking him to ask for her hand in marriage but everything aches and she just wants to sleep. Instead she says almost jokingly, "This really better be worth it." The words slip her lips before black eclipses her vision.

He isn't sure his response of 'I'll make sure, don't you worry," is heard. He says it as genuinely as possible even though he's sure her sacrifice will be nothing but worth it. He won't let it be any less. Not just because of the real implication and enormity of what she's done but something else. And it is only later he will fully appreciate it. . .

First, the panic comes and he is all fumbling arms with his words tripping up into sentences when it sets in they need to rush her to medical care as soon as possible. He's torn between wanting to stay with her and the need to fly the TARDIS. He can't do both. It is when he is opening the TARDIS's doors he hears Rory's voice. He turns to it, seeing that Rory is the one who picks up River and carries her. Rory is the one that stays with her and his eyes never leave his daughter as he talks. "Is she going to be alright?"

The Doctor doesn't answer at that point because truthfully, it is only later he knows for certain. He also doesn't answer honestly at the "And don't lie to me," Rory gives him.

"Course she will, you know River, she'll be fine." There is no sincerity in what he says. Rory walks past the Time lord carrying an unconsciousness River through the doors of the TARDIS. The Doctor looks over to Amy, still standing where she was. "She's still Melody Pond, Doctor," she says it to fault his promise. None of them really know Melody Pond and come to think none of them really, truly know River Song. None of them know if she'll be fine. Amy's voice goes icy with, "She's our daughter. She better be alright."

They take River to the greatest hospital in the universe. The nurses take her away. They sit in waiting for ages like any other mixed-up, emotional family they sit in white corridors and hope for the health of a loved one. It all happens in a blurry mess of hours that finally sharpen in clarity when the three of them are told to go back in. Joy and relief forms the smile on his face when she awakes, although she is weak she is alive. He knows also that he will have to leave with the ponds, to let her get some rest and make her own way. Just as he knows she will be amazing. . .

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_It was night above the TARDIS. Amy and Rory were in bed and he like many a night was alone in the console room. His mind replayed the day. It struck him that in the seconds River had saved him, it had been inarguable proof of her love for him. But he knew that thought meant even more. It meant he had a Time Lady who loved him completely, who could cope with the deepest dark of a warrior's soul and the oldest scars of a traveller's heart, who he could allow himself to love. A person who __loved him. And he'd be lying if he said, by this time, her feelings weren't reciprocated. _

_Those few seconds of light meant he was no longer alone. They also meant Melody Pond was no longer alone either. He'd found River Song. _

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**_Please take a minute to review. _**


	2. Chapter 2

Of Marriage, Mad Men & Melodies

_Two - An Old, Beloved Friend_

**A/N: **This chapter is a different time, different point in the Doctor's and River's timelines as all chapters are going to be unconnected in being chronological. The chapters will be made up of the different pieces of writing I've done and ideas I've collected over a length of time so there will be a variety in topic. Of course I have no idea if what I've written seems right for what would happen in the canon, fandom universe outside episodes but I hope you read and enjoy. **Disclaimer: **Just once again borrowing these characters from the marvellous creation that is Doctor Who and of course, belongs to its respective owners.

_A huge thanks to those who have reviewed, favourite-d and followed this story so far. _

**Summary: **The Doctor hates endings. Wouldn't you after years of loss? But River knows her husband. And this one he will see through.

An Old, Beloved Friend

They are both aboard the TARDIS. Leaving one of the many corridors out to the console room, River makes her way to where her husband is waiting for her. As she walks across, she pulls on a black, sharply cut jacket over the shift dress she wears. Her gaze falls upon her husband.

Agitated, he tugs at the bow tie around his neck, pulling the knot in it out as he does. This is the sixth time he has re-done and un-done it. Frustration radiates in his every movement. A darkly lit face stares back at him in the scanner screen above the controls he uses as a mirror.

River stops beside him, giving a soft "Doctor," as he goes to re-tie the cloth again. His mood gets the better of him and in a sudden jerk he pulls it from his neck. He might as well not wear the damn thing he thinks, turning to his wife.

She steps closer and slowly takes the cloth threaded through his hand. "Stop it," she says it gently for the order it actually is, still her eyes are full of understanding. They meet his weary ones. "Stop what?" She slides the length of cloth around his collar.

"Being like his," she explains, leaning into him and her breath is warm on his icy skin, "For once, Doctor, stop trying to run away." She knows his hatred of endings, yet, she knows also he can't just ignore or run away from this one. He would never forgive himself later on. "Stop working yourself up . . . one day everything will end because everything does have an end. And you can't run from that but you can embrace it. Embrace the life of a beloved, close friend. Honour a full, brilliant life."

"She was brilliant," whilst his mind replays so many glorious memories his voice is barely audible. His bow-tie is left perfectly straight as her hands fall to his chest. "Yes she was," her tone is of solidarity, her hand slips into his as they leave the TARDIS. They step out to a bleak street on earth, both in black. They go to stand to the back of the crowd. The size of it brings some pride to rise over the sadness and grief in him. Like him, they are here to embrace in memory and honour a life lived full of adventure and love, a life of a friend that had touched everyone's lives in the crowds - Sarah Jane Smith's.

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**Please take a minute to review. Reviews are gratefully received.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Of Marriage, Mad Men & Melodies**

_Three - What The Water Gave Me_

**A/N: **Angst again, but it seems to be all I can write when November still seems so long away. This is an idea for how Eleven could actually fall. Since Matt Smith is hanging up his bow tie it got me thinking, what would be his end? **Disclaimer: **Title and song - by Florence and the Machine - lyrics belong to their owners. Doctor Who belongs to its respective owners.

_Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed and favourite-d._

**Summary: **He loved a River, lost the Ponds and after, fled to another mass of water, a cloud. 'Ironic, he thinks, for it to end like this. But how could it be any other way?'

What the Water Gave Me

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_'Take what the water gave me. . .lay me down, let the only sound, be the overflow. . .'_

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He struggles at first, of course he does. But the water is all-consuming. It will not let him. Invisible arms pull his body down and under even as he tries to free himself from their clutches. But he goes under. Struggling becomes futile. He is lost to watery depths, suspended in a place where every motion like the thrashing of his limbs becomes reduced to one of agonizingly slow desperation. It renders movement pointless.

The sides of the jacket of his suit billow out. Underneath, the fabric of his shirt, still tucked in at the waistband, ripples softly. A simple black, his bow-tie is undone so the ends float loosely around his neck. He is weightless now. For the moment there is no burden to bear upon his shoulders. Here there is no fury or bitterness . . . only serenity lingers in the cerulean matter that surrounds him.

The blue begins to blind him. Yet for a man who whose been blinded so many times before, by every emotion, light and lie that life can give, he welcomes the overpowering. The liquid is not icy on his skin; it glides smoothly over and around him. The flowing motion is almost soothing. It is an ever-lasting, ever-changing, ever-travelling force – like him. Ironic, he thinks, for it to end like this. But how could it be any other way?

Finally, there is another colour around him. From his fingertips a dim orange seeps into the water but it is hesitant to become any brighter. Weak, it blurs back into the blue. There is one thing that dampens the flickers of light before they can fully flare up and burn. It is not the water but him. There is one more thing he must do first, one thing he must give: acceptance. He has held back despite the increasing inevitably of his end. This body is weak. Soon it will become lifeless, either to be cast ashore somewhere else and awake as another body or become another now and use the enlightened strength to survive. Either way, the eleventh will fall.

The water gave him a Pond and River to love and lose. Now a part of him will always belong to the water around him, his memories and his love. And it's that what is reassuring for him. This death cannot take that away. He can take no breath to steady himself for it. He doesn't need to. He is ready, for his body to go limp, to ignite and become another.

The Eleventh Doctor drowns.


	4. Chapter 4

**Of Marriage, Mad Men & Melodies**

_Four - Another Normal Start To The Day_

**A/N: **This is light-hearted compared to the previous three, because its something I wrote months ago as a chapter start to another story and I removed after two (not very good) chapters. I rewrote and reworked this chapter to see what I was left with - hopefully another 'normal' start to the day for these two.

**Edit: **To the reviewer confused, an old version of this story was posted as one of two chapters of an early DW story I wrote and deleted. I made it in a little stand alone story and included it in this, so sorry if its familiar and you have read it before.

_A big thanks to all those who have reviewed, followed and favourite-d. _

**Summary: **Battle. Accusations of Witch-craft. A furious King. The town's people in uproar. Guards mysteriously unconsciousness. Impersonations of a baby giraffe just starting to walk. And River just innocently looking for her husband. Another normal start to another day.

Another Normal Start To The Day

The cheering began. The king, a chalice within his grip, smiled. In the stands beside him were crowds of lords and nobleman, below were the peasants. Everything was in place for the afternoons most highly regarded and awaited event. Weakly, the sun peered through the clouds, waiting with the King and spectators for the sport of men and victory to begin.

On the stretch of dirt on which the jousting match was held, two horses scrapped their hooves readily. In parallel line they faced each other, stationed on opposites sides of the jousting courts. Sheathed in shining armour, two knights sat upon the horses.

They raised their lances, ceremonially and simultaneously, as if to honour the sport with the preparations of battle. The crowds hushed down. The flags of the town and the duelling knights hung off the pillars of the stands: blue and gold and flapping. Through the narrow slits of their helmets, the opponents measured and calculated the right pace of the horse, the force and strike of their lance in await for battle.

It went silent. Battle began. Horses charged. Lances outstretched.

But of course victory and failure sometimes had minds of their own. And maybe, some people weren't just cut out for this sport. The knight that had charged from the right had miscalculated. He'd misjudged his opponent, the ready pace they approached, the quick strike of their lance and accuracy of it . . . whatever he'd misjudged, it had been his fatal error. He had no chance.

To avoid the very forcible and heavy strike of is opponents lance; he ducked, veering the horse around. The horse arched up at the abrupt movement. He lost grip of the reins. Then crashed in a jumble of metal to the ground, rolled over and sprawled defeated in the dirt - an easy victory for his opponent.

He was no longer worth any of the spectators attention. The victor was. Noise exploded from the over-enthusiastic and jovial crowds. The victor veered their own horse round to face the crowds. Two of the King's servants helped take the lance from the victor. They smiled beneath their helmet and went to take it off. The crowd saw not problem in that. It was only when the victor removed the helmet, unleashing a wild mass of hair, did the crowd stopped cheering and went aghast.

The King got to his feet at once. The crowds followed suit in uproar. River just smiled. "_Now_ . . . have any of you seen my husband?"

"Guards?" The King beckoned at once, above the noisy chanting of the crowds. River remembered the rather amusing sight of several guards that had crossed her path at the wrong time, that she'd left unconscious and tied up. She smiled more.

It only faltered at the holler of the crowds, "An intruder," they remarked in realisation at the victor, "a_ woman!" _They screeched in disgust.

"My, this era really is sexist," she muttered under her breath with a light frown. She noted she better be ready to make a quick exit when the guards called for did decide to materialise. Her frown deepened. When an accusation these people favoured was bestowed upon her, she fought not roll her eyes. "Witchcraft, witchcraft I say," someone began in fury.

"Guards!" The king all but roared, angry at the sight of no action being took to apprehend the intruder or to stop the disruptive crowds. The others in the stands caught on, favouring an easy explanation for a woman victor. "A witch! She's a witch."

Then one roar silenced the accusations, "Oi!" The fallen knight rose up as his voice did. "Don't call her-" the clang of metal overcame the sound of his next words as he clattered to the ground again, quite magnificently as he lost his balance in full armour as hopeless as a baby giraffe just starting to learn to walk for the first time.

All focus lost on the crowds and King, now centred on the voice of her defeated opponent instead, River steered the horse round slowly with a questioning expression. She arched her eyebrows slightly. It couldn't be? Could it?

Watchfully, she stopped the horse a few inches from the man lying in the dirt, he was staring up at her through the visor of his helmet. He was conscious alright. She waited. Still on the ground, he lifted the visor of his helmet – allowing them to see each other and who they had just fought.

Heavy marching of footsteps and the chanting of orders as the guards finally made an appearance stood in for dramatic music as the rather sheepish eyes of the Doctor blinked back up at her. He tried out a "Hello Sweetie?" Then he tried to get up a bit more successfully. A flurry of guards swarmed into the courts. "Hello Sweetie," she returned, as he got up and took off his helmet, with a smirk of shared anticipation.

They'd been looking for each other for days, he chasing after a rumour of someone wrecking havoc over the Kingdom, her after an aloof traveller who hadn't been answering his phone for some while. Again. Maybe they'd looked a bit too hard. They'd certainly hadn't intended to run into each other this way. She went to turn her horse, shifting a look to his abandoned to the left of him and another to the angry King's men. She gave him an order, eyes lit up in the want for adventure: "Ride."

They went out of the open wooden gates of the jousting courts, leaving the angry stampede of guards behind - wanting her blood no doubt - him rambling about how the hell had she managed to get to fight in one of the matches because he'd pulled several strings himself, and them riding on and away in escape.

Just another normal start to the day for them, for a life they wouldn't have other way.

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	5. Chapter 5

**Of Marriage, Mad Men & Melodies**

_Five - One Year, Two Sunflowers & Three Broken Hearts_

**A/N: **So there is a long time between the last chapter and the posting of this one, because I've been off on my Summer holidays. I hope to post the next chapters in quicker succession.

**Summary: **It is one year after Manhattan. The Doctor is taken to a place where two fresh sunflowers lie beside one particular gravestone.

_One Year, Two Sunflowers & Three Broken Hearts_

It is one year later - one year exactly after a day that could be yesterday as he remembers it so well. The day will be spent alone. He isn't up to any company. But one year later, he too decides that wallowing in self-pity is not an option.

Why not go travelling? Why not go somewhere completely new? He needn't be a guide or hero, just a visitor. And be distracted by the sights and the history and the people. But it is on this day he gets exactly the opposite of the distraction he hopes for.

He types in a few co-ordinates, flicks a few switches and hey presto: a new place. Once the travelling motion of the TARDIS settles, he steps outside . . . to a place he knows only too well.

It is the squawk of pigeons he hears first. They overlap the background noise of the city in the distance. Their squawks deafen the quiet whistling of a wind that rustles through the paper wrapped around flowers left in memory for all of those sleeping around him. The afternoon sun is weak through the gathering of mass of clouds above him, the air is chilled and a flash of cold slips down his spine.

Coincidence isn't that twisted for history to repeat itself on such a sorrowful day, he thinks, giving a glance behind him to the TARDIS. It waits for him to a step forward into the graveyard and make him face up to his past. It is the same blue box, the Doctor wants to flee, away from his past, back into to.

But he can't.

His eyes are fixated on the two fresh sunflowers lying beside a gravestone in particular. And a part of him breaks. Fury rises in him because of the crushing grief upon him. Why? Why did he have to be brought here? Tears fill his eyes. Yet they never leave the two sunflowers, crossed neatly at their short stems below the headstone and his best friends names.

Why? Why here again? There was no point, no want and no need.

Graveyards only surround you with ghosts and haunting memories. Even after a year, he sees those ghosts so clearly and relives the memories so vividly. It is them that chase him out of the cemetery, and back to the solace and emptiness of his blue box.

* * *

A morning sky of dusky blue curves over the graveyard. A woman is knelt alone on the grass, two flowers in her lap. There is no breeze and her hair, a faded gold mass of curls is still in the cool air. It is only the cold that burns her eyes; they never leave the headstone she sits in line of. She blinks but the words upon it stay put, nothing slips her eyes to wet her face and there is not one crack in her frozen heart.

A seemingly never-ending reel of film plays in her head and it is like she can only watch the small child, red-haired girl and blue-eyed boy live their lives and grow up as it plays on. Some of it is memory and some of is wishful thinking for the lost days she never had with her parents. Now, she will have no more.

They lived a life without her - a good one - that she doesn't need to hope was long and full and happy, because she knows. That is the only comfort she gets, same as when she had lost them. Nothing or no one else brings comfort. And, when she finds herself questioning why she is even here, that fact remains the same.

* * *

He is tricked. Foolishly, he goes back into the TARDIS, expecting the guilt trip down memory lane to end and to be sent to the co-ordinaries he originally imputed. There is the familiar phrase of travel and the trick is finished when he steps out again.

The time is ten past nine when the doors shut behind him. The squawk of pigeons, the city noise is louder. The air still as icy as it was. He moves once, taking in the familiar surroundings once more, steps back. The guilt doesn't subside in him, it wells up. _Here again. _

And he is in perfect eye-line of the one thing he ran from. But it's shielded by a figure. He can't run this time. "Hello, traveller," breaks over the city noise, beckoning him to stay. Her voice is another invitation for fresh guilt and grief to mount, _his wife mourns alone and he is the coward that runs away._

River catches the sight of him in the corner of her eye but doesn't turn towards him. Instead, he steps towards to her. Many things strike him at that moment; one of them is that it is the morning of the same day. Others are too painful for him to fully comprehend, like the sunflowers not yet placed upon her parents' graves. Others he fails to notice or just, look for, like the tiredness in his wife's eyes.

"River," the words leave his lips as she gives him a measuring look and no other words pass between them for some time. Though, she does accept his offered hand in help to get up she looses it as soon she stands. In return, he takes one of her offered sunflowers – Amy's favourite - and solemnly, places it by the grave. She closes her eyes momentarily, the feeling of loss inside her as strong as ever, then she does the same with the flower in her hand.

Before walking away she takes one more look at the gravestone, reading the names once more only for images of who they belonged to, to plague her mind. The film of memories starts again. As she walks he does too, beside her. Soon another hand takes hers. She does not look up to its owner but the touch brings some comfort. Neither of them loosens the connection.

Although they travel different paths and lead different lives at times, recently more so, for now they are simply husband and wife, struggling to grieve alone on this day, making their way to a blue box that used to be a happier home.

* * *

He deliberates, lingering outside the door of the room she disappeared in hours ago. They need to talk. But he is unsure if she wants to. He knocks on the door, no answer. He calls her name, no answer. He asks to talk, no answer. His hand goes to the door handle and pushes down, the door is locked. He shouts her name, silence persists in response.

Then he hears it - the clash of glass on to the floor. Something more than curiosity seeps through his veins, pumping his heart a beat faster. With a flick of the sonic screwdriver, he is pushing the door open to burst into the room. Next to the entrance inside he sees shards of midnight blue, smashed up on the floor, maybe the remnants of a vase.

He finds her on the bed, near the end of it; body curled up she lies on her side. Eyes that are red-rimmed burn bright into his, the light inside them sparking up as the shock of his intrusion registers. But it dies out quicker, she's used to his mad antics anyway and really she can't be bothered to care anymore.

Wearily, she turns on her side to sit up on the edge of the bed. "In the habit of breaking furniture, River?" His voice is anything but light-hearted.

"Well, you wouldn't bloody go away." She gives him a look as if to say 'you were the one who married a self-confessed psychopath so why should me hurling things across the room come to a surprise?'.

"Well I'm definitely not going anywhere now," he adds moving closer to her, "Not matter how much furniture you break."

This time she doesn't even muster a response. During the silence he sits beside her on the bed. "Marriage has taught me a lot of things, you've taught me a lot of things, River."

"What you do actually listen to what I say? And here I was thinking, it went in one ear and out the other." She curses at the leftover tear that streams down her face, wipes it away, trying for a smile.

"Actually, I listen an awful lot. Worryingly much. And some things have found a way to sink in," he jokes but his tone goes serious. "That sometimes you can't run away from endings. That what's left after them. . . who's left after them still matters. And you know what River, I've learnt over the years, that sometimes it's okay to let go, to be human, to break down." And he did, he reflects but he didn't think she had a chance after Manhattan.

So he wraps his arms tight around her, pulling her body close to his. He thinks it is the first time he has ever seen her properly cry when she does break down. He hears her mutter something through the tears, "Anymore of this wisdom to share?"

She manages a small laugh at his next comment. "It's not recommended but breaking furniture can be excused in some cases."

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	6. Chapter 6

**Of Marriage, Mad Men & Melodies**

_Six - Another Interesting Day Out_

**A/N:** So, a more lighthearted thing with pirates. It's set S6, but before the wedding and the daughter revelation and after their trip to America. It's the start of a little adventure. **Disclaimer:** I've borrowed Amy and Rory as well for this one.

Thanks to all those that review, it means a lot. :)

Another Interesting Day Out

Most of the ship's crew were meeting in a dusty, filthy cabin to play cards, gambling anything of worth they had left. It was night and lanterns lit the walls, empty bottles rolled on the floor."Right," muttered the leader of the group, "If everything is ready for tomorrow, I'll be off."

"Wait," piped one sailor in the room, catching the attention of the leader just before he departed. "I remembered, the captain said something about waiting for a new arrival."

"Son, we're in the middle of nowhere, and the captain isn't really the most hinged in the head since we were brought here. Now, if that is all, I'll be leaving, again." A few men laughed at this, and the sailor who'd spoke just looked at his feet.

The leader promptly turned on foot only to land with a thud on the floor in a heap. Clutching his head, he shouted "What in the blast?" The crew edged nearer to the space of well, thin air, he'd crashed into. The magnificent whirl of a type 40 TARDIS's arrival surrounded them. Then a box of blue brightened the drab and grey cabin room. The crew could only watch, perplexed. Out stepped a man in tweed from the doors of the blue box; or for a more accurate description, out stepped a massive Mexican sombrero rimmed in gold and red overshadowing the figure of a man in a tweed suit.

In mid-rant, he walked backwards, arms flailing around as he explained something about really needing to use the chameleon circuit more often as an entrance in the TARDIS might give them some unnecessary attention. Out followed a woman in a summer, maxi dress with messy red locks and oversized sunglasses on, accompanied by her husband in a t-shirt and shorts. The man in tweed was oblivious to the cries of his name by the other two, visibly aware of their intrusion aboard the ship. He spun round with an extravagant wave of his hand, exclaimed, "Rory, Amy welcome to. . ."

He faced the pirates to trail off with "MEX. . .I . . . co," and rapidly turned back round from the drawn-out swords and unnervingly grinning faces. "Amy, Rory time to go," he ordered going to push the TARDIS door open. Quickly, a glittering, silver blade blocked his path. He looked to its owner - who was still clutching his head with one head and had some sort of vengeful glee in his eye – gulped. The Doctor turned back around, "Err. . . Amy, Rory . . . welcome aboard Mexico."

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Whilst Amy and Rory had looks of terror upon their faces due to the sailors, cutlasses drawn, circling them, the Doctor was beaming and rubbing his hands together. "Ah, pirates, love pirates me, had a friend who was a pirate before, well I say a friend. . ."

He broke off his rambling at the click of metal. "Now, that really isn't necessary," he protested looking down at his newly handcuffed hands. By the sound of Amy and Rory's indignant pleas their hands were also bound together. Their protests fell on deaf ears as they were taken to make their way above deck, the Doctor muttering, "Oh, this is the part where you take us to your leader isn't it?"

The Pond's fear had half been replaced with annoyance and 'here we go again' expressions. They were heavily objecting to being dragged out on deck like prisoners, especially as rain was currently crashing to earth in torrential buckets. "Oh lovely, just lovely" mumbled Rory. This was all but drowned out by Amy's hysterical "Do you have any idea how much this dress cost?" Their protests were eventually silenced by them being roughly shoved into the middle, all three of them rallied into a waited in silence, looking forward to the scene ahead that was probably decided their fate. If the crews shouts of "Chuck 'em overboard," and more inventive suggestions to the three intruders fate, was enough to go by nothing exciting had probably happened in a long while.

"Caught these stowaways down deck, Captain," the gruff voice of a sailor informed a grey cloaked figure on deck a distance away from the captured trio. They cast a glance to them and then went back to talking to the sailor. Once the conversation had finished, they eyed the stowaways. Lightning fast they retrieved a sharp dagger tucked in at their waist and hurled it, straight in line with the Doctor. Thankfully, it only struck the monstrosity of his hat so it was now expertly pinned to the wall behind him. After that, the captain disappeared off to the other side of the ship.

"Right," ordered the sailor, "back under deck for these, Captain said to lock them up securely." Amy, Rory and the Doctor, protested again to no avail as they were dragged away. The latter of the three, had a small, wondering smile on his lips.

* * *

"Really, you couldn't even take us to Mexico, not some far off planet or pocket universe, but Mexico . . . present day and on earth Mexico. I thought: we're finally going to go somewhere we intend to. But no, let's have a summer holiday on a pirate ship!"

It was the first noise that greeted her as she locked the door to the prison cells behind her. She made her way, down a darkly lit corridor, to the cell it had come from. Before she reached it, another voice filled the corridor, complaining that his pilot skills were in fact excellent and the destination was not his had to stifle a laugh at his behaviour before announcing her presence by exclaiming, "On this one occasion, I too have to agree that this time it isn't." Amy, Rory and the Doctor heads shot round to the new voice from behind the cell bars, the Doctor got to his feet as the hood of a grey cloak was pulled back.

"Well, this _is _new, _you_ being the one behind bars, all locked up," the person who had beneath it said and he swore he had not seen a more wicked look than the one in her eyes. _Oh he thought it would be her. _

"Thought I might shake things for a change," the Doctor replied casually, relishing childishly inside that he'd showed no surprise in her appearance. _That woman and her surprises would be the death of him, _he thought back to their previous appearances. Nearing the bars of the cell, he faced a face with a devilish smirk on, surrounded by a halo of faded golden curls.

"Hello Sweetie."

"Hello Captain."

* * *

**Good? Bad? Feedback is muchly liked.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Of Marriage, Mad Men & Melodies**

_Seven - Her Last Ceremonials_

**A/N: **Blame the amount of coursework prep, homework and stuff that's been piled high in the last couple of weeks for lack of update recently. Life, it just gets in the way, doesn't it? So this is a firm angst, very different to the last one. And there is little chance of it happening during the show. But I just thought, what happened to River's body in the library? **Disclaimer: **Yep, not mine.

**Edit: **Fixed the mistake that was spotted.

**Summary: **'Her body was not a miracle by definition but it was too him. In the fire he saw memories of their time together. They were similar to the ones she'd kept sacred in her diary. Now he vowed to keep them sacred forever more.' Angst. Grief. Potentially upsetting themes/ scenes. T.

Her Last Ceremonials

_He is sick of books. Where there is a book, there is a story. Where there is story, there is no doubt an end. A heroic one. A tragic one. A foreseen one. There is always an end. _

He was sick inside; he knew he would be part of an end very soon. He travelled alone for it. He decided that was the best way, wondered if there ever could be a good way.

Slipping quietly around the place, he waited. He knew he wouldn't have to wait for long, though. He'd planned this exactly. The co-ordinates he'd set were painfully perfect. The TARDIS brought him where he needed bringing. The library.

He landed not far from the core of it, where he would soon head. Not at the exact moment when a countdown reached zero, but not too late that he'd be forced to witness the arrival of 4022 people in the library. He didn't want to be confronted with the fact that she died at that very point, and he was only a walk away.

His fist punched out. It connected with the one thing he hated more than anything at the moment. A stack of books plummeted to the floor, open at pages he didn't even glance at. His stomach was a melting pot of emotion, and right then red fury was the prominent colour of it. He knew it was time. He pulled the hood of the cloak shrouded his figure over his head; it shadowed his facial features in dark. And stepped forward, the books splayed behind him.

In the heart of the library, he wanted to cut out his own, so nothing can beat any emotion through his veins. The pain was that bad when he first saw hers, after all these years, after all this time. Hundreds of years of memories and all he could remember was this day.

But he went forth. Saw his tenth regeneration, wise enough to just watch but still so very pathetic, slumped there, handcuffed by the women he didn't know. The one he treated even less than he did just another fleeting person he might run into one plant or the other in the travels. And all he could do was watch her dead body.

Under the cloak, the Doctor clenched his fist. The melting pot inside him steamed again. But he remembered what happened all those years ago, when he was so young and cleverly arrogant and so . . . pathetic. A screwdriver was on the floor and he gave it a small kick with his foot, it rolled nearer to his younger self. Though, no hand reached out to pick it up and it stayed there.

At that point he lost all focus on his earlier self, for all of it was given, then on, to his wife.

His hand swept over the side of her face. She was just resting, just sleeping, he thought. But it stayed true in his head for no longer than a second. A tear rolled free down his face, on to her white suit. Oh God, he thought, he didn't think he could do this. But he had to. He needed to. Softly, he unplugged and pushed to the side all the wires she expertly, with determination, set up to kill herself. And save 4022 people.

He let her love him too much. He knew she didn't just sacrifice her life for those people; she also didn't want to face a life without him.

Solemnly, he carried her body to what once was their home but what now was just an empty blue box. Ten may have tried to save her but whatever way he did it, it still meant her husband would never see her brilliant smile, her beautiful eyes light up again, he would never have her again.

Not his River. Not the woman who'd sacrifice her freedom for him, known how to handle him at his worst, kept him in check and loved him, with a ferocity and understanding like no other. His clever, wild, beloved River - someone insane and enigmatic as him, with a yearning for a chaotic life of adventure just like him.

And if that longing made him selfish, then so be it. Because he could be selfless tomorrow but today, he would mourn his wife. And what a woman she'd been.

* * *

He has never felt more immortal as the flames rise, they are in honour of the one woman he could have spent the rest of his live with – instead he'd let her go, to live on without him. Like every other time, he is the one left alone.

The colour of amber reflects in his eyes as he watches on, smoke twists and twirls up into the sky, hoping to get a glimpse of the stars before it fades out now dusk is underway. And the sky will soon be alight, just like the stand in front of him.

Her body was not a miracle by definition but it was too him, that's why the fire was lit. In it, he saw memories of their time together. They were similar to the ones she'd kept sacred in her diary. Now he vowed to keep them sacred forever more, in his head, in his memories. In his hearts.

That is the least she deserves. What he is doing now is the least she deserves – her last ceremonials. And he will watch on, until the fire goes out.


End file.
